


The Road Not Yet Taken

by journeycat



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Apologies, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journeycat/pseuds/journeycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A choice: to follow the path he always has, or to take the path he never knew was there until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Not Yet Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN: Team Wyldon at Goldenlake in February 2010.
> 
> _I shall be telling this with a sigh_  
>  Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
> Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —  
> I took the one less travelled by,  
> and that has made all the difference.  
> \- from Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken

The leaves crunched delicately beneath Wyldon’s boots as his long rapid strides carried him deeper into the Royal Forest. It was a rare moment of peace: a late autumn day when the cool sunlight filtered wanly through the thick tangle of trees and a breeze coaxed goosebumps from his flesh. The soothing noise of nature hummed all around him, but it was not the constant keening voices of people with questions and complains and insipid small talk. Out here, with the hard earth under his feet, it was simple.

Beside him, Keladry kept up effortlessly with his steady pace. The only sound that betrayed her presence was her heavy breathing, but it was in rhythm with his own and didn’t break his reverie; he would have found a new route if she tried to chatter at him. It was silly to think that he had been displeased when she had initially accompanied him on his infrequent but desperately desired runs—they had been his one chance at solitude.

Now he could hardly imagine treading this familiar path without her.

There was a sudden expletive and in his periphery, Wyldon saw Keladry go down. He skidded harshly to a stop and doubled back. He was a little amused to see her scowling at the offending tree root.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Just a stupid misstep.”

But she winced as she struggled to her feet—what happened to her Yamani Mask?—and closer inspection revealed the bloody mess of her knee.

“It looks like more than a misstep, Mindelan,” Wyldon said mildly. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Don’t be silly,” Keladry protested, gingerly testing her leg and this time covering her pain with a blank expression. “I can walk just fine.”

Wyldon raised an eyebrow at her and she reddened. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be pert.”

“You’ve been hanging around Queenscove for too long,” he said dryly. “Do you expect me to let you limp back to the palace by yourself? Now come on, I’ll help you walk.”

Keladry looked embarrassed but did not argue as he gently placed a hand on her back and urged her forward. She stumbled a little, but he kept her steady and she slowly hobbled her way back down the path. It was weird, feeling her back; it was hard muscle beneath his hand, and he was reminded—yet again, as he always was from the moment she had presented herself to him with a black eye and saying in surprise, _no, of course I don’t want to leave_ —of how she was stuck in limbo between worlds. He was ashamed suddenly, because he helped put her there, when he made a spectacle of her gender and pushed her harder than he did any of the boys.

“Keladry,” he said, “I want to apologize.”

She blinked, tilting her head in puzzlement. Her bangs swung in front of her eyes and she impatiently brushed them away. His eye caught sight of the thin white scars on her hand. “For what?”

“For a lot of things,” he said. “It was wrong of me to put you on probation and then do everything I could to make you leave. I apologize for that.”

To his great surprise, Keladry snorted. “You could’ve saved your breath, sir. I forgave you a long time ago when I was old enough to realize it’s not always black and white.”

Wyldon stared at her in unguarded incredulity. _How remarkable_ , he thought vaguely. His eyes were drawn to the shadow on her cheekbone, cast by the fan of her long, curling lashes.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said. “I’m not sure if I would feel the same in your place.”

“You would,” she said simply.

Strange, that he could tolerate the sunlight and yet he had to look away from the blinding brilliance of her smile.

“Look,” she said. “I can see the forest opening.”

Wyldon could, too. And when she looked at him with her dreamer’s eyes, as though expecting an answer, he found himself wishing the path would never end.


End file.
